


Through Trials And Tribulations

by ghostsenpai21



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsenpai21/pseuds/ghostsenpai21
Summary: The story of Harry Potter, but in this case Harry was born a female called Harriet Potter. Harriet finds out she is a witch, leaves her pityful life at the Dursleys behind and begins her new life at Hogwarts, establishing longtime friendships and trying to avoid being murdered in process. I suck at summaries, give it a chance.





	1. The Girl Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, this entire series belongs solely to JK Rowling, this is purely a work of fan-fiction.
> 
> This first chapter would be the introduction, so I will follow the book directly, but just make a few subtle changes. This story will be an extremely slow burn, as I am starting from book one and nothing is really going to get "exciting" until she gets older. Please note that she will be called "Harry" by friends. The story would most likely be long because for now i'm following the exact story of the books for now, just making changes and inserting some of my own ideas. Also, I may be updating this a bit slowly because I have final exams in a few weeks so I don't have as much time as I would like to work on this, but I will try as best as possible to update it. Enjoy.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

One night, as Mr. Dursley began drifting into an unusually uneasy sleep, a cat on the wall outside was waiting patiently. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, I've celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. 

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone--"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know... " he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's daughter, Harriet. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harriet Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true ?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harriet survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harriet to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harriet Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harriet Potter day in the future -- there will be books written about Harriet -- every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harriet underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing her."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild -- long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -- ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. “She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give her here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harriet in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I -- could I say good-bye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' poor little Harriet off ter live with Muggles--"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harriet gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harriet's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harriet," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harriet Potter rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dudley... She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harriet Potter -- the girl who lived!"

 

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed, the walls were filled with only with pictures of Dudley Dursley, as a baby and every year since. There was no sign that another child inhabited the house as well.  
Yet, Harriet Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

Harriet was awoken to her Aunt rapping madly on her cupboard door.  
"Up! Get up! Now!"

Her aunt rapped on the door again. "Up!" she screeched. Harriet heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one.  
Her aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Yeah," said Harriet.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harriet groaned. Today was the little pig’s birthday, how could she have forgotten?  
When she was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen and saw that the table was piled high with presents. Dudley came crashing into kitchen, almost knocking her down in the process.  
“Stay out of my way freak!” he yelled, shoving her again, causing her to topple over this time.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harriet had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old t-shirts of Dudley's, and cheap pants which her aunt unwillingly bought for her. Harriet had a thin face, black hair, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched her on the nose. The only thing Harriet liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions -- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harriet was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair girl!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harriet needed a haircut. Harriet must have had more haircuts than the rest of the girls and boys in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way -- all over the place.

Harriet put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell when he realized there weren’t enough to his liking. Harriet, rolled her eyes when he threw a tantrum and began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you more presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I’ll have… more?” 

"Yes, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled and ruffled Dudley’s hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harriet and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap his gifts. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harriet's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to exciting places that Harriet always dreamed of going. Every year, Harriet was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a neighbour, which Harriet Hated.  
"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harriet as though she'd planned this. 

Just then, the doorbell rang -- "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically -- and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harriet, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harriet aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, girl -- any funny business, anything at all -- and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas, with no meals."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harriet, "honestly..."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harriet and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen. But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harriet what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harriet thought, licking it as she explored the place, excited as this was her first time being at such an exciting place.

Harriet had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her.  
Harriet felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It was an enormous, emerald green snake with scales that glistened even in the dim light. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can -- but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring, dumb snake," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harriet moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself -- no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

“You’re so beautiful, I’m sorry that you have to be stuck here and endure this,” she said.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harriet's.  
The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harriet a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time."

Harriet stared in awe and murmured through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear her. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harriet asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harriet peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harriet read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see -- so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harriet made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING! SHE’S TALKING TO IT"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harriet in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harriet fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened -- one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harriet sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Harriet could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again.  
The worst of all, happened when they were all back in the car when Piers calmed down enough to say, "Harriet was talking to it, weren't you, Harriet?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harriet. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go -- cupboard -- stay -- no meals," before he collapsed into a chair.  
Harriet lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know what time it was and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food. She was hungry, but this was nothing she couldn’t deal with. She was used to being denied meals at the Dursleys.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. Sometimes, when she strained his memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Harriet had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. At school, Harriet had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harriet Potter in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.  
The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harriet her longest-ever punishment. She was given scraps of food through her door which barely sustained her and by the time she was allowed out of her cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and school was over.

Harriet was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. They were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harriet Hunting.

This was why Harriet spent as much time as possible out of the house, praying that her life would change eventually. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harriet, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny as he looked for every opportunity to torture her.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life. Dudley made sure to use the stick on her since he had gotten it, and his his father laughed, saying that she needed lots of training.

Dudley only stopped hitting her when they heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make her get it."

"Get the mail, girl."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harriet dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard for Uncle Vernon, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and -- a letter for Harriet.

Harriet picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. She had no friends, no one had ever written to her in her life. So how was it possible that this letter could have been delivered to her? Was it some kind of joke?  
Ms. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

"Hurry up, girl, do I need to come out there are drag you in?" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.  
Harriet went back to the kitchen, still staring at the letter. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk..."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, she's got something!"

Harriet was unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" said Harriet, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness -- Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Harriet furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harriet didn't move, there was something important in that letter. She needed to see it.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" she shouted.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harriet and Dudley and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.  
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address -- how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching -- spying -- might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want--"

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything..."

"But--"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harriet in her cupboard.

"Er -- yes, Harriet-- about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.

"Why?" said Harriet.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped her uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Harriet was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harriet, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! Ms. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harriet right behind him. A fight ensued as the three of them struggled to get the letter, but it was eventually snatched by Uncle Vernon.  
"Go to your cupboard -- I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harriet. "Dudley -- go -- just go."

The next day Uncle Vernon did not go to work. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."  
Alas, to his dismay that did not work. By the end of the week, Uncle Vernon had destroyed well over 80 letters. On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today--"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harriet leapt into the air trying to catch one --

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harriet around the waist and threw her into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.  
They did not stop until they were near the coast, late in the evening. Uncle Vernon directed them all to come out of the car, and they made their way to a pathetic looking boat which was rocking on the sea. He was pointing at what looked like a large rock way, upon which was the most miserable looking shack imaginable.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "I've already got us some rations, so all aboard!”

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harriet was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harriet couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, reminded Harriet she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harriet heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and she'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty... ten... nine -- maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him -- three... two... one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harriet sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.  
BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you -- I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then --

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Sorry about that.”

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.

Who was this person that spoke to her with such familiarity?  
She peered into the shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway – Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here -- I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harriet written on it in green icing.

Harriet looked up at the giant. She meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harriet's whole arm. His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harriet felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Harriet, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts -- yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

"Er -- no," said Harriet.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harriet said quickly.

"Sorry ?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Harriet.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl -- this girl! -- knows nothin' abou' -- about ANYTHING?"

Harriet thought this was going a bit far. She had been to school, and her grades were good.

"I know some things," she said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My -- my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know what yeh are ?" he he asked.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Harriet eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry -- yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"I'm a what?" gasped Harriet.

"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good 'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Harriet stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Ms. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Harriet’s head like fireworks and she couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes she stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Oh yeh, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl -- a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl -- a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harriet could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harriet her letter.

Taking her to buy her things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harriet realized her mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"She's not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.

"A what?" said Harriet, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"

"You knew ?" said Harriet. "You knew I'm a -- a witch?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that -- that school -- and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was -- a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as -- as -- abnormal -- and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harriet had gone very white. As soon as she found his voice she said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harriet Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harriet asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harriet, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh -- but someone's gotta -- yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh -- mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..."

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with -- with a person called -- but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows--"

"Who?"

"Well -- I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harriet suggested.

"Nah -- can't spell it. All right -- Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this -- this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too -- some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him -- an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' -- an'--"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad -- knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find -- anyway...

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then -- an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing -- he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh -- took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even -- but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age -- the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts -- an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in her mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, she saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before -- and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching her sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harriet jumped; she had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, girl," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured -- and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion -- asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types -- just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end--"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -- I'm warning you -- one more word..."

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harriet, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry -- I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he was gettin' more an' more powerful -- why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on -- I dunno what it was, no one does -- but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Harriet with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harriet, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A witch? Her? How could she possibly be? She'd spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if she was really a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock her in her cupboard? If she'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick her around like a football?

"Hagrid," she said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch."

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Harriet looked into the fire. Yes. Yes she had. Maybe….just maybe this could actually be true.

Harriet looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harriet Potter, not a witch -- you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you she's not going?" he hissed. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish -- spell books and wands and--"

"If she wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop her," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter from goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort, fer a change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled--"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER -- " he thundered, " -- INSULT -- ALBUS -- DUMBLEDORE -- IN -- FRONT -- OF -- ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley -- there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. “TAKE HER, GET OUT AND DON’T EVER BRING HER BACK!”  
Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He cast a sideways look at Harriet under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm -- er -- not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff -- one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harriet.

"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

She left it at that. He took off his thick black coat and threw it to her.

"You can kip under that," he said. "We best be off, got a lot ter do tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd that's it for now. This is my first fic ever so it actually took a lot longer than I expected and like I said this was basically an introduction so it is extremely similar to the book for now, just a few subtle changes. Despite that, I hope it was enjoyable, please leave a review so I can be motivated to do more. Thank you.


	2. Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, this series belongs solely to JK Rowling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a bit similar, but with a lot more changes. This was due to the fact that there were important details which I absolutely could not omit from the story, however I do hope that you enjoy this chapter. I also want to apologize if the spacing between sentences and paragraphs are weird, I am new to this site and i'm not sure how to use it correctly as yet.

The next day, Hagrid took Harriet to London at a place called Diagon Alley to get her school supplies.  
When they arrived at London, Hagrid led her around stores and houses, through bustling crowds and winding roads until finally they stopped in front of a pub.  
"This is it," said Hagrid, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harriet wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harriet had the most peculiar feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it. Before she could mention this, Hagrid had steered her inside.  
It seemed very run-down for a famous place. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harriet's shoulder and making her knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this -- can this be -- ?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harriet Potter... what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harriet and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Ms. Potter, welcome back."

Harriet didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.  
Harriet remained silent while people approached her, eager to shake her hand and congratulate her for achieving something which was nothing barely a memory to her. Part of her was disturbed to even smile and acknowledge their praise, because she felt she was undeserving of it as she could not even remember the events that took place the night her parents died.  
She had just managed to tear herself away from the small crowd when a pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"M-Miss P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harriet's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, M-Miss P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

Harriet didn’t get a chance to reply as the others kept coming back to speak to her. At this point in time Hagrid almost dragged her through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, dismissing the others by telling them that they had too much to do.

Hagrid grinned at her.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh -- mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

Harriet was still very bothered by all of this. How could she have been famous for something she didn’t even remember? Her head was swimming, trying to process everything that was happening. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up... two across... " he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he touched, wiggled and twisted out of sight until there was a giant hole in the wall. They stepped through and Harriet felt her eyes adjusting to the light.

"Welcome Harry," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

Harriet instantly forgot what she was thinking of. She was sure her jaw had dropped open in awe. She tried to look at everything at once but it was physically impossible. Diagon Alley was the kind of place Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had nightmares about. It was the least normal place Harriet had ever seen in her entire life, she could have never dreamed of a place like this, not even in her wildest dreams. 

There were shops with owls in different colours and sizes, women stood on the street calling out the names of foreign products Harriet had never heard about. People were walking around dressed in bright, colourful robes, greeting each other and moving on. It was busy, almost crowded area and there were children running about to buy candy or to look at broomsticks nearby. 

“Before we get yer anything, we need ter get yer money firs’,” said Hagrid snapping her out of her daze. They walked ahead until they had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Hagrid led her inside and they met a goblin who led her to her vaults. After receiving some gold, they went to another vault where Hagrid received a tiny parcel from the goblin. He refused to tell her what it was so she opted to stay silent until they left. Hagrid took her to buy her robes at Madam Malkin’s robe shop (where she met a blonde boy with a terrible attitude), then her school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books, which seemed to be never-ending. 

They quickly collected all of her supplies and Hagrid stopped to check over her list again.

"Just yer wand left -- A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harriet felt herself go red.

"You don't have to--"

Hagrid brushed off her words and tried to figure out what to get her. He decided on an owl and Harriet couldn’t help but feel her heart soar, as she had spotted a beautiful snowy owl when she had first arrived.

Twenty minutes later, Harriet now carried a large cage that held said owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. She couldn't stop stammering her thanks, she was grateful as this was her first actual present ever. She named her Hedwig when she awoke, at which the owl nipped affectionately at her fingertips.

They made their way to the last shop which was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside.  
“Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harriet jumped.  
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harriet awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harriet Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harriet's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head and then, to Harriet's relief, began to look for a wand for her.

"Well, now -- Ms. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er -- well, I'm left-handed," said Harriet.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harriet from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

He climbed up on a ladder and pulled a dusty box from one of the shelves. "Right then, Ms. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harriet took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try--"

She tried again -- but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.  
After trying about 50 other wands, Mr. Ollivander stared at her intently. He reached up in the shelf and pulled out one last box.

“I wonder, now -- yes, why not -- unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harriet took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

He put Harriet’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious...

"Sorry," said Harriet, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Ms. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother -- why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harriet swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

That set her on edge. She paid for the wand quickly and left the store, desperate to avoid Mr. Ollivander’s gaze. She met up with Hagrid who had decided to wait outside of the shop for an unknown reason.  
They made their way out of Diagon Alley and back through the Leaky Cauldron, until they reached back to the station. Hagrid helped Harriet on to the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September -- King's Cross -- it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me... See yeh soon, Harry."

The train pulled out of the station and by the time Harriet had turned around to wave at Hagrid, he was gone.  
Harriet's last month with the Dursleys passed quickly as they had opted to just ignore her very existence. She kept to her room, with her new owl for company and she spent her time reading as her school books were very interesting.  
On the first day of September, she walked through King’s cross by herself, staring at her ticket with a disdainful look.  
Her ticket said platform 9 and 3 quarters, but there didn’t seem to be such a thing. There was only platform 9 and platform 10. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, she had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and she had no idea how to do it; she was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk she could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

She had just begun to panic a group of people passed just behind her and she caught a few words of what they were saying.

"-- packed with Muggles, of course--"

Harriet swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like her own in front of her -- and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Harriet pushed her cart after them. They stopped and so did she, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go..."

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harriet watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it -- but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone -- but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was almost there -- and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harriet said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Harriet. "The thing is -- the thing is, I don't know how to--"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harriet nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er -- okay," said Harry.

She pushed her trolley around, nervously. Then she started to walk toward it, increasing her speed until she broke into a heavy run -- the barrier was coming nearer and nearer -- she wouldn't be able to stop -- the cart was out of control -- she was a foot away -- she closed her eyes ready for the crash --

It didn't come... she kept on running... she opened her eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts' Express, eleven o'clock. Harriet quickly made her way into the train and found an empty compartment.  
The train had begun to move when the door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harriet. "Everywhere else is full."

Harriet indicated that the seat was empty, eager for some company at last. The boy glanced at her quickly then looked back.  
"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train -- Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"By the way," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Please, call me Harry" she said, smiling as they left. The twins grinned and the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harriet Potter?" Ron blurted out.

Harriet nodded.

"And have you really got -- you know..."

He pointed at Harriet's forehead.

Harriet pulled back her bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who -- ?"

"Yes," said Harriet, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well -- I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harriet for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.  
Harriet decided that she liked Ron, and for a while they enjoyed some comfortable conversation, in which she learnt that he was from a big family who weren’t very wealthy. She told him about her experiences with the Dursleys and how awful they were to her.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harriet.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him..."

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk." He gestured at a rat was snoozing on his lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway--"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er -- all right."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Here let me show you.”  
She turned to Harriet and flicked her wand. The tape that was hanging off of Harriet’s glasses disappeared and she took them off in awe to see that they were no longer broken.  
“Brilliant,” she said, grinning up at the girl, who returned a smile.  
“I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" the girl asked.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harriet Potter," said Harriet.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course -- I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

Hermione then slid into the empty seat with the toadless boy, Neville, and began to explain Harriet's history to them all. She was getting to the fall of Voldemort when the compartment door slid open yet again.  
Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the blonde boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harriet with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harriet Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harriet. She was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harriet was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harriet. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harriet's, but she didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," she said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and it'll rub off on you."

Both Harriet and Ron stood up.

"Say that again," Ron said, pulling out his wand.  
“You all, stop it now!” shouted Hermione

Malfoy looked at Hermione and sneered. “I shouldn’t even be wasting words on your sort.”

And with that he turned and left, Crabbe and Goyle following.  
"You've met Malfoy before?" asked Neville, who looked severely shaken.  
Harriet explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Neville, "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched!”  
My dad doesn't believe it,” said Ron, “He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."  
There was a troubled silence, which Hermione broke by reminding Harriet and Ron to put on their robes. Harriet and Ron reached into their trunks and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harriet's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, she saw, looked pale under his freckles. Neville was practically hyperventilating and even Hermione looked positively green.  
The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harriet shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harriet heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"  
They followed Hagrid through a narrow path that had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harriet and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then -- FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

When they arrived at the castle, Hagrid did a quick headcount before leading them to the front door.  
Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.  
They were taken inside the castle by a very stern looking witch, who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, the Head of Transfiguration.  
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

After her speech, she led them through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harriet was amazed by the sights within the great hall. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.  
At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.  
Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harriet looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard Hermione whisper, "It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.  
Harriet turned her attention back to the professor, who was now putting an ugly, old, worn hat on a stool directly in front of them. Harriet found herself wonder exactly what the sorting was going to be. Then the hat opened its mouth and began to sing to Harriet’s surprise. The hat finished its song and Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"  
A pink faced girl ran up and immediately got sorted into Hufflepuff.

Harriet began to panic. What if she got sorted into a bad house? Was there anything like a ‘bad’ house?  
"Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harriet in the line, was called up and the hat declared him a Gryffindor.  
"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.  
When Neville Longbottom was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off to the table, almost shaking with relief.

Malfoy strutted forward when his name was called and the hat had barely even touched his head when it screamed "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon"..., "Nott"..., "Parkinson"..., then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"..., then "Perks, Sally-Anne"..., and then, at last --

"Potter, Harriet!"

As Harriet stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"THEE Harriet Potter?"

The last thing Harriet saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Harriet gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that -- no? Well, if you're sure -- better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harriet ran to the Gryffindor table with a big smile on her face, not noticing that she was getting the loudest round of applause in the room. Ron soon joined Gryffindor also and the feast began. Harriet looked down at her golden plate, realizing just how hungry she really was.

By this time, the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.  
With a few words, he welcomed them all to Hogwarts and when his short speech ended, their plates were all filled to the brim with the most delicious food Harriet had ever seen in her life. She glanced at Ron, who grinned back at her, and they both began wolfing down the food in front of them.

“Honestly you two, be careful you don’t choke!” said Hermione, helping herself to some pie.

Harriet decided that she loved magic. Anything that could be this wonderful could never be bad right? All this wonderful food, and delicious desserts, magic was the best thing ever!  
She took a little bit of everything she could reach and she made sure to eat all of it and not let it waste. At the Dursleys’, she had found herself near the brink of starvation many times, so she had learnt to appreciate anything she got to eat.

When they were finished eating, Ron looked like he was going to be sick while Hermione graced him with a disapproving look. While the others were still eating, Harriet engaged Percy in some polite conversation to pass the time.  
Percy spent the time droning on about Hogwarts and he was in the process of naming all their professors when she decided to look up at the High Table again. Her eyes skimmed past all the faces and stopped when she noticed that Professor Quirrell was speaking to a teacher with long black hair, a hooked nose, and an irritated look on his face.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harriet's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harriet's forehead.

"Ouch!" hissed Harriet, slapping a hand to her forehead.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harriet had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that he didn't like her at all. She glanced back to the high table and saw that he was still staring directly at her, which caused her to quickly turned away from him.

"Say Percy, who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Harriet summoned the courage to turn back and watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at her again.

When they were all finished with dinner, Dumbledore addressed them once more, highlighting several rules, before dismissing them all for bed.  
Percy led them all to the Gryffindor common room, telling them the password and showing them to their assigned dorms. Harriet found that she was sharing a room with Hermione and 3 other girls whose names she could not remember. The girls all unpacked and, deciding that they were all too exhausted to speak to one another, they wished one another goodnight and fell asleep.

Over the next few days, Harriet was forced to deal with whispers and sharp looks being thrown her direction, which she decided was incredibly annoying. On the bright side, she realized that she had a natural aptitude for magic, as she was faring excellently with her classes. She decided beforehand that her favourite class would have been Defence Against the Dark Arts, as she had been reading her books and was eager to practice some combat magic.  
However, Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke, due to him only allowing them to read as he was too scared to teach them any spells, lest there was an accident when they used their magic.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," groaned Ron at breakfast on Friday. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them -- we'll be able to see if it's true."

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harriet's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harriet Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"  
Harriet racked her brain trying to remember what her potions books contained.  
“Uh… asphodel and wormwood make a potion, obviously,” she said.  
Snape stared at her for a split second before his lips curled into a sneer.  
“… and I think it’s also known as the Draught of Living Death..?” she said weakly.

"I am relieved to know that you do in fact, possess a brain,” Snape glared at the rest of the class, “Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape seemed bent on making sure that they suffered and messed up. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harriet and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You -- Potter -- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? Can’t avoid the limelight can you Miss Potter? That's another five points you've lost for Gryffindor,” said Snape with a disgusted look on his face.

What? Harriet was enraged to the point where she was shaking. This was so unfair she had to do something.  
“How could you be so unfair?” she yelled as he turned his back.  
The room became silent.  
Snape turned around slowly, almost in disbelief.  
“Miss Potter, do you have an issue with the way I discipline my classes?” he asked in a deadly voice.  
Harriet opened her mouth to say more, when Ron kicked her under the desk.

"Don't push it," he muttered.  
“Detention this weekend Miss Potter. And report to your Head of House after class,” said Snape, walking away from her table.  
As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harriet's mind was racing and her spirits were low. She'd lost so many points for Gryffindor in her very first week -- why did Snape hate her so much?

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. I’ll see you after McGonagall okay?”  
He gave her a reassuring smile and left. Harriet turned and began her walk to Professor McGonagall’s office at a slow, depressing pace.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Severus Snape was not having a good first week. As he shut the doors of his office, he pulled out a small piece of paper and wrote a short note to Minerva, and threw it in the fire to be sent to her. He resisted the urge to go outside and look for victims to torture, to help ease his bad mood.

Dumbledore’s sickeningly jovial antics at the beginning of the new school year, along with all of the annoyingly fresh faced students prowling around the halls, simply drove him insane. He despised seeing students almost as much as he despised having to interact with them. This hatred was fuelled even more when those very same students made it their mission in life to wreak havoc in his very own classes. He didn’t think he could deal with another year of the Weasley twins and still have his sanity intact.

A new annoyance to his life this year however, was the very own Miss Harriet Potter, daughter of the ever famous, Lily and James Potter.

The girl was undeniably the spitting image of her god forsaken father, which annoyed Severus to no end. However her eyes possessed the same bright, emerald green colour as Lily’s did, which almost froze him into place when he saw them that day at the feast.

Which perhaps annoyed him even more.

The girl was a small, yet fierce looking thing. It was clear to see that she had a way of drawing people’s attention towards herself by simply breathing, which irritated Severus very much. She was no better than her father, he thought, the attention seeking bastard that James was.

Something inside of him was tugging at his mind, saying he should’ve been just a little easier on her, considering she grew up with Petunia. God knows that was no easy feat. But just seeing those ridiculous glasses and that mop of dark, unruly hair, practically screamed ‘Potter’ and had him fuming. Plus with her little spectacle in class, she would surely be regarded as some sort of ‘hero’ amongst her puny Gryffindors for disrespecting him, which of course, would never sit well with him.

He rubbed his temples and sat at his desk. He pondered for a minute and decided that he’d just think of a suitable detention for her and leave the rest to Minerva.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I was having a bit of an issue for end notes, but that's resolved now. I hope this chapter was enjoyable, thank you for your continuous support!


End file.
